Existing to Serve
by l0velyfe
Summary: A drabble consisting of the explicit, under wraps relationship between captain and lieutenant. /Rated M for sexual situations, softcore bondage & incest/


Hello readers! I'm back! Actually, I've been in quite a slump when it comes to writing. I recently joined an RP site, and I think most of my inspiration has been contributing there. But this short little piece was actually inspired from there! I roleplay Nemu, and the person who roleplays Mayuri… Well, I love her :)

This is for you Sharon!

_!Softcore bondage warning, incest warning!_

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><p><strong><em>Existing to Serve<em>**

_Written by MoonlightKiss_

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><p>This was not love. Not in any sense. It couldn't be. There was no valid reason that this should mean anything remotely romantic to them.<p>

This was frustration. Anger. Loneliness. This was impulsive, feral, instinctive. This would never be spoken of. Never live on, except in the minds of the duo whom it involved. There were reputations to uphold. Duties to be carried on.

No, this wasn't love, or any variation of the sort. This could never have been prepared for, nor anticipated. No one would have ever predicted such a scandal occurring between them. It wasn't worth imagining; it never crossed anyone's mind – not even their own.

As his fingertips traced down the curves that he had created, his mind warned him that this could come with consequences. According to any standards in any society he had been submerged in, this was all wrong. Frowned upon. Illegal, even, in the Living world. Of course, he could argue that she was not his daughter. She had not been birthed by a female that he had copulated with. But she had his blood in her. She was created with his DNA. She was artificial. Created – built – by him, to assist him. He would never admit to anyone else but himself that he had made her partially to ease the loneliness that he experienced in this world. He had created her. She was built for this.

And that was exactly what he kept telling her, whispering against her oh-so-flawless skin, to keep her at ease. Not that it was needed; she was calm, lying there on the examination table. The icy metal rubbed against her skin, yet it didn't faze her. She had always known such indifference. It was how she had grown up. A servant of sorts. But only for him. She existed to serve him.

Perhaps it was that thought that stirred the yearning inside her as his cool fingers traced abstract patterns on her skin. Desire seemed to take hold of her as he dragged cloth from her body. The moment those silky undergarments – Matsumoto's idea – fell from her ankles, and she lay there, exposed to him, adrenaline kicked in. That poison – a poison she was _not_ immune to – pumped through her veins, fueling the wanting that she knew was immoral. But did it matter? She had done things immoral before, at his orders, many times. This was no different.

She felt his warm breath as his contrastingly cool hands descended on her thighs, parting them. Goosebumps spread across her skin at the chilled air of the laboratory invading foreign places. Fingers gripped the edge of the steel table, strained as far as the cuffs would let her. The iron bit into once immaculate skin, leaving evidence that would be concealed by sleeves.

His touch left her, and she could only wait, quivering, thighs kept apart with what felt like leather belts attached to chains. She could hear the jingling every time she moved. Her short breath was the only sound in her ears. Was he really that stealthy?

He stood, watching her. How long would she wait silently for him? Minutes? Hours? Days? Her obedience impressed – no, delighted him. He reached out to touch her, nails running down her body. Her skin was like velvet porcelain. His fingertips circled her lips gently, and her chin rose a bit to his touch. He could nearly feel the arousal emanating from her in waves.

Perhaps this wasn't anger, she realized as he touched her. She knew when he was angry. She had experienced it enough times; she didn't need to see him to know. She would have felt it. Perhaps this was just an experiment. She had no right to question his motives. Honestly, she had no desire to either. Her heart throbbed in her chest as she heard the rustling of cloth.

Her smell alone aroused him. It was that, combined with the taboo reality, as well as her exposed body splayed out in front of him that spurred him on. His fingers trailed down her calf to her thigh, golden eyes lingering on her face. He needn't say anything. She knew. A small squeeze of her thigh, nails digging into her skin, and he felt her brace herself. Yes, she knew.

When he entered her, her body seemed to follow its instincts rather than her mind. He wasn't slow by any means, yet not fast either. In the back of her mind, she wondered if he could tell he had deflowered her and if he was happy about it or not. It felt all too right, to have him filling her in such a way. She had heard from anonymous sources that it would hurt. But she was built to tolerate pain.

It was sheer pleasure. He couldn't find anything wrong with using the ability to pleasure another – and himself – to his advantage. He rocked his hips against hers, slipping into her further with each movement. He heard her muscles easing in the tone that she emitted. Thrusting shallowly, he listened to the melody the rattling chains made. Her voice chimed in.

She was warm, and perfectly snug around him.

As if she was built for him.

She said his name. A shaky pronunciation, breathed from her lips as he filled her over and over. She felt him lean over her a bit, creating a new angle. Lust pooled in her lower abdomen. Her toes curled on their own. _'Again,' _he told her. She obliged, whimpering his name again.

The way her voice caressed his name sent little chills down his spine. He hadn't heard his name come from another woman's lips in that tone in… Quite a while. It urged him on, and he pushed into her faster. His nails bit into her skin, leaving little u-shaped cuts on her hips. Dully, she felt the trickle of blood. The scent nearly made him lose control.

She felt his hand leave her hip and trail up her body. Fingers tugged at the cloth near her temple, and it fell away, cotton brushing against her skin. She blinked once, twice, and gazed up at him. With no face paint on and his headpiece absent, he looked quite normal. Dark blue hair, damp with sweat, fell in golden eyes. She imagined she was the only soul who saw him in this state anymore.

Her eyes were so green. Jade, if you will. Just like her grandmother's. Mayuri's gaze lingered on her petite nose, the curve of her lips, her emerald orbs. She was not perfect. He didn't believe in perfection. The flaws she had made her beautiful.

Her head fell back against the metal, eyes shutting tightly as she reached her peak. At the feel of her spasms around him, he fell over the edge with her. His name slipped from her lips, and hers whispered from his.

Her heart throbbed in her ears and against her chest.

He basked in the afterglow for those precious moments. Those moments in which the transition was nearly about to take place.

She shivered when the heat of his body left her. Emerald eyes watched idly as he dressed promptly. As languid hands tied his obi, golden eyes finally raised to her.

"Get dressed, Nemu," he murmured. "I expect that paperwork done by tonight."

Only after he had departed did she move. Finding her chains had been loosened enough to slip out of them, she stood carefully.

No, this wasn't love. Not that kind.


End file.
